Ghost from the past
by Rilja
Summary: Xander receives a letter. It's from Spike.
1. Part 1

TITLE: Ghost from the past 1/?  
  
AUTHOR: Rilja (golf_clap@yahoo.com) PAIRING: Xander/Spike RATING: PG-13 DISTRIBUTION: Archives are ok, just tell me were it went so I can go look at it. Others please ask first. ARCHIVE: nummy.verticalcrawl.com DISCLAIMER: Spike, Xander and all things Sunnydale belongs to Joss Whedon. FEEDBACK: Yes! Please tell me if I did good, or bad. SPOILERS: No. SUMMARY: Xander receives a letter. NOTE: This occurs some years down the line. Xander has moved from Sunnydale. NOTE 2: //Xander's thoughts//.  
  
  
  
Four days. Four long days since someone had brought the mail in and dropped it on the counter and that one pristine white envelope had been sitting there ever since. He knew it was for him. Hell, everybody on the sight knew it was his letter, since he was the only one to have his mail sent to the sight instead of his home. There it would usually never make it into his hands, and if it did, not without being read a couple of times. The crew's betting on when he would finally open the letter had already reached an appropriate high level. He already knew whom it was from. Still, he couldn't reach out and just look at it. //Did it have a return address, and in case it didn't could it be traced by the postmark?// The easiest way to find any of this out would be to just pick up the damned letter and look, but he couldn't, not today, maybe tomorrow.  
  
He had no idea why *he* would send him a letter. //Yeah ok, so they had become somewhat friends over the time, but shouldn't the letter be to Buffy?// Then again maybe she'd gotten one to, maybe all of the gang had gotten one. He made a mental note to ask them when he made his weekly are- everybody-still-alive-and-I'm-fine call, pushed the thoughts out of his mind so not to saw his arm off, and spent the rest of his day concentrating on whether or not he had ordered enough nails and if the delivery would be late this week too.  
  
  
  
Saturday morning and he had woken up early even though he usually slept well past noon on his few days off. The cause of his sleeping problem sat innocently on the table beside the phone. He'd finally picked up the letter and Matt had bought the rest of the crew a beer with his winnings. On the drive home he'd had to put it in his bag in the backseat to not have an accident while constantly glancing at it. When he'd gotten home, closed and locked the door, he'd picked it up, traced his name in that elegant script with his fingertip, turned it over and felt rather disappointed when he couldn't find a return address and the stamp was too smudged to be readable.  
  
Now he was sitting beside the phone, too nervous to make the call. It wasn't the call in it self but the question that he'd had to ask. His stomach lurched, and after deciding that breakfast would have to come first he got up and went in to the kitchen after a quick stop to the bathroom.  
  
Breakfast finished, dishes done and the washer merrily humming in the background, he thought about breaking out the vacuumer, but realized he was only postponing the inevitable and picked up the phone. The ringing on the other end sounded loud in his ear and he was beginning to think that it was to early to be calling at, he glanced over at the clock-radio, //7.03!? Maybe a *bit* early on a Saturday//, but then the phone was picked up and a sleepy Willow asked, "What?"  
  
"Hi, it's me. Sorry to call so early, but you know me up at the crack of dawn." //And wasn't that a big fat lie.//  
  
"Xander? What? You're never up this early if you don't have to. What happened? Are you all right?" Sleepiness instantly replaced by a worried concern that he hadn't realized how much he'd missed.  
  
"I'm all right, nothing happened. Really." //Who am I trying to fool?// "Just wanted to hear from my favorite witch and couldn't wait one second longer." Goofy, harmless, joking Xander made a quick appearance.  
  
"Xander, you know that don't work on me any more." But the worrying had lessened, and there was laughter in her voice now.  
  
"I know. Worth a try though? So how's everybody? Dawnie got any new boyfriends, or girlfriends?  
  
"Dawn is fine, no boy- or girlfriends on the horizon. You didn't call this early to hear about her love life. What's wrong?" The laughter had turned into concern once again, and he could almost see the beginning of a frown.  
  
"Ok, something strange happened this week, I got a letter."  
  
"From whom?" From worried to serious research mode in an instant.  
  
"I don't know, I haven't opened it yet, but I have my suspicions. Did any of you get a letter?" Holding his breath, hoping both that they did and that they didn't.  
  
"Humm. not that I know of, nothing out of the ordinary anyway, but Dawn brought in the mail Monday. I don't know if she got one, she hasn't said anything. Who do you think it's from? You said that you had your suspicions?"  
  
"I don't know for certain. I just got this feeling. and the handwriting" //when I finally got the nerve to pick it up// "reminds me of, well it looks a lot like. I think it's from Spike." //There, I said it, laid it out in the open, bared it. whatever.//  
  
"From Spike! What? Why? When? What?"  
  
"You said that all ready." And there was laughter in *his* voice now.  
  
"Are you sure? You have to open it. Why haven't you opened it?" Distress and a bit of worry crept into her voice again.  
  
"I don't know, I didn't even pick it up until yesterday. I have no idea why he would write to me. And then I wanted to wait to hear if you had gotten letters too, but I guess no, unless Dawnie got one Monday."  
  
"You could have called Monday, you know."  
  
"I know." But he hadn't. He called Sunnydale every Saturday and it hadn't occurred to him that he could have called when he first got the letter instead of worrying over it all week. //So, I'm not the smartest guy on the block, sue me.// "Can you check if Dawnie got one too?"  
  
"Sure. But I'm gonna wait a few hours, it is Saturday even if some of us rises at dawn." The pretended irritation and the amused tone made his heart ache and he wondered again why he had left.  
  
"Sorry." And he was. He wouldn't have called this early if he had looked at the clock before dialing.  
  
"It's all right. Take care of yourself. I worry about you, you know, and open that letter."  
  
"I will. Bye Willow, love you. Tell the others I said hi."  
  
"I will. Bye Xander, love you too."  
  
After he had put the phone down his eyes settled on the envelope beside it. //.and open that letter. Right.// He was disrupted in his thoughts by the washer biping for some fabric softener. One cup of April freshness later and he were back in the chair stretching for the letter. It was probable just a small note about how Spike loved New York, London, Bombay? and was glad he got away from the Hellmouth. //Or it could say "I got the chip out and by the way I'm coming by on Saturday."// This made him retract his hand an inch before shaking it of, calling himself foolish and with a slightly embarrassed grin on his face reach for the envelope, only to be interrupted by a knock on the door.  
  
He stared dumbly at it until there were another more insistent knock and he got up to answer it, half expecting it to be Spike grinning like a madman and asking for an invite. It turned out to be Mrs. Hendel from next door who kindly reminded him to not use the washer this early since the water pipes were right in her bedroom wall. A stumbled apology and some pleasantries later he was back in the chair staring at the letter.  
  
  
  
So, what did you think? Should I continue? golf_clap@yahoo.com 


	2. Part 2

TITLE: Ghost from the past 2/? FEEDBACK: Yes! Please tell me if I did good, or bad. NOTE 1: Thanks for excellent beta sis. NOTE 2: Thank you for all the wonderful feedback I got for part 1. It made me write faster. Special thank you to Cimmer, this one's for you.  
  
  
  
Sunday morning: cartoons and cereals. Xander picked up the letter on his way to the couch, sat down and turned on the television. Willow had called back the previous evening; no one in Sunnydale had gotten a letter. She had asked about what it had said and he had told her that he hadn't opened it yet. But it was well past time to do so. He turned it over and slit it open with the back of the spoon. He took a deep breath, glanced over at Batman, who was busy saving the day and didn't glance back, and pulled out the thick folded paper.  
  
Why was he so nervous about this letter? It was only a letter; he got them every week from Dawn and once in a while from Willow and Buffy. Even Giles had sent a few, very proper and formal, but still letters. They were all worried about him and he didn't really blame them, not with the way he had left. But that was all in the past and not something he liked to think about.  
  
Spike had left a couple of years before Xander. No one really knew why, but they all had their theories. Xander knew, but that was just because he had been there, that night. He had never told anyone. Instead he let them believe what they wanted. It was easier that way, less questions.  
  
He carefully unfolded the thick, expensive looking paper and read the short message. //An invitation to an art show?! This is what I've been tiptoeing around all week!?// He picked up the envelope again, he could have sworn it was Spike's handwriting. It still looked like it. He shrugged. //Well I guess I was wrong. I wonder why someone sent me an invitation to a vernissage?// He reread the invitation, looking for clues. It was at a local gallery that he passed too and from work every day. Next Saturday at 7 p.m. //a little late for a gallery, oil paintings, promising new artist yada yada yada, William Southfork. William. No, it couldn't be. But that would explain the handwriting. Painting? Spike?//.  
  
*******  
  
The next week went by in a haze. Even the crew's and Willow's nagging about what the letter said couldn't get to Xander. He was in his own little world. //Spike invited me. Spike wants to see me. Spike isn't mad at me anymore.// The thoughts kept running through his mind. It wasn't until Friday that he realised that there could be another reason for the invitation. What if this wasn't an all-is-forgiven-invitation, what if it was an I'll-kill-you-slowly-invitation.  
  
This would be the first time he would see Spike after he had left Sunnydale. After the "incident", that he so eloquent had named it to be able to talk about it. Maybe Willow was right to worry. Three years and he still couldn't talk about it. Instead he had left, //run// his mind kept telling him, and buried himself in his work. His social life was non- existent, regardless of the crew's constant invitation to their weekly end- of-the-week celebration down at the local pub. He more often than not put in overtime, and if possible even worked weekends. He had only been back to Sunnydale for Christmas and birthdays, and the gang had only visited him once for his housewarming party.  
  
He looked around his dingy apartment and couldn't really blame them. It had looked even worse those first months until he had had the money to renovate and refurnish it. Now he had the money to move out and into something nicer, but he didn't. He guessed he was punishing himself, and yes he had taken some evening classes at the university. Psychology being just one out of many. In the beginning it had been mostly to pass the time and later 'cause he found it interesting. //Imagine that, Xander Harris willingly doing schoolwork.// But it was a lot different to *have* to do it and to do it 'cause he wanted to. Another thing he had learnt was that it was unhealthy to keep secrets and that feelings should be talked about not locked away. Maybe he would get to do that tomorrow.  
  
*******  
  
He spent all night tossing and turning. Going through all possible outcomes of the next night. It was only in the morning, after a mug, or three of coffee, that he realised that he had never been to a vernissage before. He had never even been to a gallery before. So he had no idea what to wear, if he should be on time or if it was practice to be fashionable late. Art was one of the few classes he hadn't taken.  
  
He finally decided on plain black slacks and a grey shirt: discreet but still dressy. He also decided to be late. Hopefully a room full of art- critics would keep Spike from coming after him in a worse case scenario. It would also keep it from getting to emotional if it turned out to be a better case. He couldn't decide what would be the best scenario, but with his luck it would be highly unlikely to happen anyway.  
  
He arrived an hour after the proclaimed time and after finding somewhere to park, walked over to the gallery, which was the only one opened at this time of night. The sun had set an hour ago and the stake in the back of his pants dug into the small of his back. The cross around his neck hangs heavy, illusions of safety. Some habits never die. It never even crossed his mind that it wasn't all that polite to go to a meeting armed.  
  
He unconsciously straitened his clothes and pulled his shoulder length hair away from his face. On second thought he let it fall back to cover the left part of his face. Through the window he could see people mingling, sipping champagne and talking in small groups. He opened the glass door, took a deep breath and walked inside. 


	3. Part 3

NOTE: //Xander's thoughts//, /Spike's thoughts/. NOTE 2: A big thank you to x, beta extraordinary. NOTE 3: Thanks for all the excellent feedback on previously parts. *beams*  
  
  
  
Fortunately the door hadn't had one of those little bells, so Xander walked in mostly unnoticed. He got a glass of champagne off a tray sitting on a table and a thin catalogue from the small pile beside the glasses. He quickly walked over to the nearest painting and tried to look as if he was deeply studying the artwork. Hopefully no one would pay him any attention and he wouldn't have to make small talk, while trying to say something in- depth about the artist's use of colour.  
  
The plan worked like a charm; no one seemed to have noticed his entrance and Xander visibly relaxed and took a sip of the champagne. Now that he wasn't trying so hard to go unnoticed, he took a quick look around. The gallery was composed of one big room with a smaller one in the back. A wide archway connected the two rooms. The walls were painted in a bright white, which was only interrupted by the artwork. If the William Southfork on the invitation was of the un-dead variety formerly known as Spike, and Xander was pretty sure he was, the artist was nowhere to be found. The people who was milling about, sipping their own champagne, looking at the paintings and making small talk, looked like your average art-lover. He was glad he had dressed the part and not showed up in jeans and a T-shirt, it would have made it impossible to not draw attention to him.  
  
It didn't seem as if anyone, the gallery owner or otherwise, was going to walk over to him and. //greet him? Wish him welcome?// He really had no idea how these things worked. When no one attempted to drag him into a conversation, he released the death-grip; he unconsciously had had on the small pamphlet and looked at it more closely. It was a small booklet with the gallery's name, the name of the artist and the date the paintings would be shown on the cover. There was also the title of the exhibition, //"Memories long lost". How poetic// Xander thought, and remembered the time when Spike had let it slip that he had been a poet before Angelus came along. //That had been one drunken night.// Xander couldn't help but smile at the memory.  
  
The rest of the catalogue was made up of small pictures of the paintings, all with a number, title, year and a price. Some of the titles were familiar, like Sunnyhell and The Initiative, but they were all worded so that an outsider wouldn't know the real meaning behind it. The dates of origin started a year after Spike had left Sunnydale and ran up until the current year. The prices were real high. But, then again, Xander wasn't at home in the artworld, for all he knew they could be among the lowest.  
  
He looked up and his eyes was drawn to the nearest painting, the one he had been so intent on appearing to be studying that he hadn't really seen it. When he had first connected the dots and come to the conclusion that Spike apparently was a painter now, he had had a mental image of huge canvases splattered with thick layers of black and bright red. It was comforting, //or was that uncomforting,// to know that he hadn't been too far off. The frame-less canvases that hung from invisible lines from the ceiling was huge: about five feet high and seven or eight feet across. They all appeared to be non-figurative, but they were in all sorts of colours. The one he had ended up in front off after his stealthy entrance //yeah, right// was done all in nuances of blue, from baby blue to a deep rich almost black navy colour. It was mesmerising; like the sky minutes before a summer storm, or the ocean settling down after a good bout of thunder.  
  
Xander sank deeper into his thoughts. The gallery with the silent murmur of people gave way to the memory of the summer before his sophomore year. The summer before Buffy, before vampires and hellmouths. The last summer of childhood and innocence.  
  
Willow and him had been vegging on her back lawn, lapping up the sun, when all of a sudden dark clouds had gathered on the previously clear July-sky. The rain and thunder had started almost immediately, giving the two teens no time to get inside. They were drenched within seconds, but Willow had only turned to him with a big smile on her face and started to dance around in the heavy rain. He had laughed at her antics and happily joined her in their own version of a rain-dance. //That had been one great summer,// Xander thought. The memory so vivid that he could almost taste the rain on his tongue, smell the roses that Sheila took such great care of, and hear Willows laughter as she spun faster and faster; arms stretched out, head turned up laughing against the rain that had dared to interrupt their sunny day.  
  
*******  
  
Xander remained deep in thoughts, unaware that his entrance had been noticed. Spike had heard the door opening, over the quiet murmur of voices, from the room in back and looked over just as Xander walked trough the door.  
  
He hadn't really believed that the boy would actually show up. But now that he had, Spike couldn't take his eyes of him. He watched the younger man snatch a glass and a catalogue and then quickly walk over to pretend to be a part of the fixtures. Spike shook his head lightly. /Still trying to sink into the background, Harris?/  
  
The woman beside him kept talking about how wonderful she thought his work was. Spike listened with half an ear, made some noise when appropriate and continued to look over the young man he hadn't seen in over five years. /He looks older, well duh as the bit would say. He also looks broader. Doing some weightlifting probably. The hair is nice, always did like long hair./ The mental image of the two of them naked on a bed, with him running his hands trough that thick dark mass of unruly locks, made Spike fall out of sync with the woman talking to him and she walked away offended after he had made an uh huh-sound instead of an hmm-sound. Spike shrugged. /No greater loss./ Now he could concentrate on his Xander-watching, which was a whole lot more interesting.  
  
Xander chose that moment to look up and scan the crowd. Spike ducked behind the dividing wall between the gallery's two rooms. He waited, and when he wasn't yanked up by the collar, he was relieved that he hadn't been seen, and stepped out from his temporary hiding. His ducking for cover had gotten a few eyebrows raised, but they probably chalked it up to strange artistic behaviour 'cause no one came over. Either that or they just didn't care, it made no difference to him as long as he was left alone to continue his voyeurism.  
  
He looked over the other man's clothes and was pleased to see that the often miss-matched outfits Xander had favoured in the past had been exchanged for a more subtle grey shirt and black slacks. It didn't hurt that the trousers were tight enough to show off a pretty impressive firm ass and muscular thighs. /Didn't hurt at all./ Spike discreetly adjusted himself and stared down the older man across the room that had raised an unapproving eyebrow. /If you don't approve, go stare at some other paintings./ Half the people that were mingling about the gallery had only showed up for the free champagne anyway.  
  
The object of Spike's viewing was still deep in thoughts and hadn't moved since his quick scan of the room. /Time to greet my newest fan./ Spike chuckled silently to himself and started to make his way towards one of the few people he personally had invited. /He's so lost in thoughts that he doesn't even hear me./ Spike tsked to himself and noticed the stake-induced bump on Xander's lower back. /Well at least he's still wearing a stake./ He took the last step up to the younger man's back, leaned forward and whispered directly into his ear.  
  
"See something you like?" 


	4. Part 4

NOTE: Thank you all for the massive amount of feedback. In response this part turned out to be a good deal longer than the previously, enjoy.  
  
  
  
"See something you like?"  
  
The reaction Spike got wasn't one that he had expected. He had expected an 'eep', maybe some blushing and stammering. What he got was Xander turning with such speed, that he had the older man up against the wall, right forearm pressing warningly against his throat, and a knife to his balls before the vampire could even react. Spike was impressed, and a bit angry. No human should be able to overpower him; he really had lost his edge. Living on bagged blood for almost a decade had made him weak. Even when he could get his hand on human blood, it was always at least a day old and not nearly as potent as it would be fresh from the source.  
  
He looked down at the man holding him and couldn't help but notice the coldness in his eyes. The same eyes that in the past always had held a glimmer of humour, even in the most dangerous situation, was now staring at Spike hard and emotionless. /It's almost as if he doesn't recognise me./ Then the younger man blinked and when those eyes opened again there was some warmth in them, and Spike was suddenly once again standing on his own, the knife disappearing just as fast as it had been drawn.  
  
"Spike." Was courtly said in greeting, and the man in front of him dragged one hand; the same hand that had just moments ago held a knife to his groin, through his hair pulling it away from his face.  
  
Spike ignored the shocked staring from the other patrons, waved away the gallery owner that had rushed over to see if he was all right, and continued to stare at the man before him. This stranger that looked like his Xander, but acted like. /well like a stranger./ His eyes was once again drawn to the human's face, this time to the left side of his face which had previously been shielded from view by his hair. It looked like someone had taken a dull knife or a sliver of glass and repeatedly dragged it over the young man's face: from temple to jaw, cutting it open. The massive mound of pale scar tissue, told Spike that the wounds had been deep, almost clear to the bone; it also told him that the damage was old, at least a couple of years.  
  
/It must have happened right before he left Sunnydale./ Spike had kept tabs on the small group of evil-fighters after his departure. Not him in person, but he still had some contacts in Sunnydale that kept him informed of the latest big bad and apocalypse of the week. He hadn't heard of Xander being hurt and made a mental note to make some calls. His sources hadn't known that his reason to keep an eye on Sunnydale had been his desire to keep Xander safe, but they would. For their sakes he hoped that they hadn't known about his boys injuries. /If I had known, I would have been there./ It had been difficult to keep up with Xander when he had moved, since he didn't know anyone in San Francisco, but he had managed and when that hadn't been enough he had moved here himself.  
  
The vampire was cut short in his inner musings when the man in front of him grew tired of waiting and simply stepped on his toes to get his attention.  
  
*******  
  
While Xander had been stared at, he had taken the time to do some inspecting himself. Gone was the black T-shirt and snug jeans, instead Spike was dressed in a navy blue shirt and dark grey khakis. //I guess I'm not the only one who's dressed up.// At first he hadn't recognised the vampire and had reacted on instinct, the same way he would to any threat. Living on his own, without the slayer to back him up, he had been forced to learn how to defend himself. He liked to think that he was pretty good at it, he had had the vampire up against the wall after all. He couldn't help but feel a bit superior. //Lost your edge, huh, Spike?//  
  
The other thing that had made the man before him look like any other guy was that Spike had abandoned his previous bleached look and returned to his natural hair colour: a light brown. His hair was still held in check with more hair gel than Angel ever used, but the colour made him look more human, more average Joe than the big bad.  
  
When said average Joe continued to stare instead of answering his question or even acknowledge Xander's presence, he took a step forward, right on the other man's foot to get his attention. //Ok, so I probably grounded my heal in a bit more than necessary, but it felt good.//  
  
"Oww. What the hell was that for?"  
  
"Glad to have you with me. I *said* how have you been and when you just kept staring at me I stepped on your toes."  
  
"Stepped my ass, more like grounded a hole through my foot. I know I should have worn my steel tipped," Spike grumbled to himself while trying to get the feeling back in his abused toes.  
  
Xander couldn't help but chuckle a bit, quietly of course.  
  
Spike's head shoot up. "What's so funny?"  
  
//Guess not quietly enough.// "Umm. Maybe we should start over. Hi Spike. Howì¥Á ø¿Ö6 bjbjäêäê-H-E-EÖ2ÿÿÿÿÿÿl:[pic]:[pic]:[pic]:[pic]:[pic]:[pic]:[pic]N[pic] s own. Xander told Spike all about what had happened since the vampire had left Sunnydale, pointedly ignoring the reason to why the older man had left. Xander couldn't shake the feeling that Spike had known everything he told him before hand. //I wonder if he has been looking out for me all this years? Nah, that would be too overprotective even for Spike.//  
  
After they had steered around the subject of why Xander himself had left, he continued to tell the vampire about his job and his, at long last, liveable apartment. Just when they were getting to what Spike had been doing since he left, the gallery owner came over and among several apologies asked if she could have a word with Mr. Southfork. Xander tried to suppress his mirth at Spike being called Mr. and waved them on. He had things to do himself. Before Spike had so rudely interrupted he had only really looked at that one painting, and he wanted to see the rest without 'the artist' hanging over his shoulder. He vowed to himself that he would get the vampire's story later, and turned his thoughts to the earlier conversation.  
  
It had surprised Xander how easy they had simply fallen into their old routine as they had spoken. It was as if no time had passed at all. Apparently Spike had thought that it was time to leave the past behind, and who was Xander to object. These last few years had been lonely, despite anything he had said to the group back in Sunnydale. Willow would have been knocking on his door in a couple of hours if he had ever confessed to anything along the lines. Even sooner if he had told her how lonely he really felt.  
  
Some days he had had trouble convincing himself that he had made the right decision to leave. He liked living just fine, and being an ordinary guy fighting the demons of the Hellmouth didn't seem like a likely course to keep living. That it would take a close brush with death to finally make him leave, just confirmed that he had made the right choice. Reassured in the rightfulness of his actions, Xander turned his attention to the catalogue still in his hand.  
  
There were a total of sixteen paintings in the main room and a small section of four portraits located in the small room in the back. Reading through the titles he discovered a few more he recognised and decided to start with those, since he didn't know how long Spike would be occupied. He also looked up the title to the blue painting he had been transfixed by; it was called 'The sky of my childhood'. Spike hadn't been a child for over a hundred year. //He must have painted that one from memory.// He found it a bit strange that he himself had instantly associated it with his own childhood.  
  
The next painting that he recognised the title of, was the one named 'The Initiative'. He walked over to the large canvas that was listed as number eight in the catalogue. This one was all done in black and red, not unlike the ones he had imagined Spike to paint. It was clearly an expression of pain and hatred. As he looked closer he could se figures emerge from within the broad stokes of the brush. There was a man in fatigues and a man in a long coat. //Probably a lab coat.// There were also several small objects: a scalpel, a keypad and one of those small stun guns that Xander had seen Riley use. //Not the happiest painting.// Xander grimly thought and forced himself to walk over to the next painting.  
  
This one was a little more cheerful. Done mostly in shades of green with some blue and purple tones it was called 'The Basement of Doom'. Xander chuckled to himself. //I wonder what the other customers must think of that title.// Just like in the previous picture he could make out figures in the brush stokes. There was the dreaded chair that Xander had tied Spike to in the old days, the lamp that Spike had almost stolen, the radio he did steal, and a lot of other knick-knacks that Xander almost had forgotten he had ever own. There was even a figure sleeping on the uncomfortable sofa bed that Xander realised must be himself. //It seems as if I made quite an impression after all,// Xander thought smugly.  
  
He skipped the ones named 'The Factory' and 'Acatla', he had had enough of paintings of the angst variety for one evening. He glanced over at the gallery owner who seemed to have a heated discussion with 'Mr. Southfork'. Spike looked ready to bite her head off and storm out, or just bite her. It was hard to tell from this distance. Xander quickly calculated that he had about ten more minutes before he got company, and made his way over to the archway leading into the small back room that housed the portraits. The titles of the four paintings, which he had read in the catalogue, hadn't given anything away since they were all simply called 'Love'.  
  
He stepped into the much smaller room and turned to the painting immediately on his left. It wasn't a conventional realistic portrait, it looked more like something of van Gogh, or even Picasso. Painted only in black and red Xander could still clearly see that it was a portrait of Angel, or Angelus since the man in the painting had old-fashioned clothes and long hair. //Huh, I didn't know that Spike had loved his sire. I wonder if he ever loved Angel?//  
  
The next portrait was of course of Drucilla. Done all in black and purple, Xander remembered that Spike used to call her his wicked ripe plum. Where Angelus had been surrounded by means of torture, knifes and things the Xander rather not know what they were, Drucilla was surrounded by dolls, a complete tea set and several small animals, mainly birds and kittens.  
  
He went back to the portrait of Angelus when he thought he saw. //Nah, it can't be.// But it was, there in the left bottom corner was a small tub of hair gel. Xander burst out laughing. He was laughing so hard he had to lean on the wall so he didn't end up on the floor. Luckily he was alone in the small room, but he did receive some questioning looks from the people just outside the connecting archway.  
  
Pulling himself together he turned his attention to the third painting. Still giggling a little, he looked over the portrait of Buffy. All done in different shades of yellow with green nuances for background made it seem as if she was standing in bright sunlight. It was the opposite from the other two portraits where the background had been black, black as night. //Maybe not so strange. Angel and Dru are unquestionably night people while Buffy loves the sunlight.// The figures that could be seen in the swirl of colours where representative of Buffy. There were a stake, a cross //I wonder if it hurt to paint that// even Mr. Gordo could be seen in one corner. Just as in the previously paintings Xander could see why Spike had named them love. Both the portrayed and the way they had been portrayed spoke of love.  
  
With one last look at the portrait of Buffy, Xander turned to his right where the last portrait was. What he saw made him stop dead in his tracks and his mouth fall open. His eyes turned glassy with unshed tears as he extended his right arm to lightly trace the silhouette of the portrayed with his fingertips. //Wow.// 


	5. Part 5

With one last look at the portrait of himself, Xander pulled himself together and went in search of Spike. //You have some serious explaining to do, buster.//  
  
Xander found Spike where he had left him, still talking to the gallery owner. He positioned himself a couple of feet away, and listened in on the conversation. It seemed as if the owner was trying to persuade Spike into selling one of the portraits. Telling him again and again just how much the presumably buyer was willing to pay. Spike on the other hand was venomously refusing, telling her that the portraits were personal and that there was no way that he was willing to part with any of them. Apparently they had had this conversation before and the discussion got more and more heatedly. When they were reduced to glaring at each other, Xander thought it was time to make his present known and stepped forward to introduce himself.  
  
He got the woman's attention and stretched out his hand in greeting. "Hi, I'm Xander Harris."  
  
The gallery owner immediately took him for a possible customer and turned on her best unquestionably fake cheerful smile for him.  
  
"Hello, Mr. Harris. I'm Patricia Evans, the owner of the gallery," she said while giving him a confident handshake. "And this is William Southfork, the artist." The artist was said with reverence as if it was the pope himself that stood before them. She gestured to Spike and probably expected them to shake hands. Xander didn't know what to do; did he tell her that they were old friends or did he play the part of awed artlover that got the chance to meet 'the artist' in person. Luckily Spike stepped in and made the decision for him.  
  
"Pleasure to meet you Mr. Harris," the older man said and extended his hand.  
  
"Pleasure is all mine," Xander replied and shook the vampires hand. There was an uncomfortable silence as they all waited for one of the others to say something. //Wasn't there a law somewhere that all shop owners had to be able to make small talk with even the most reluctant customers, even if this was an gallery and not the Gap.// Finally Xander couldn't take it anymore and opened his mouth.  
  
"So." He turned to Spike. "If you don't mind me asking, I had some questions about one of your highly talented work of art. I found it most elusive and the use of colours just took my breath away." //Heh. Who said that I couldn't act.// Spike on the other hand was doing a fair impersonation of a goldfish.  
  
"Maybe if I showed you the painting in question?" Xander continued and took a dumbfounded Spike by the arm and started to lead him over to the nearest painting, while all the time smiling his most reassuring smile at the gallery owner.  
  
When they where finally out of earshot Xander couldn't suppress his mirth any longer and started to giggle uncontrollable.  
  
"Hey!" Spike had finally found his voice again.  
  
"Oh god! I haven't had this much fun in years." Xander managed to get out between giggles. "You should have seen the look on your face. priceless."  
  
"Yeah, well. Nice to know that you find me entertaining." Spike grounded out. He tried to appear angry but his eyes were crinkled and his lips were twitching. /Oh to hell with it,/ Spike thought and burst out laughing.  
  
Once the laughter had tapered off, Xander decided to hold of the confrontation about his portrait and asked if Spike could give him a small tour of the exhibition. Like he had anticipated the vampire steered clear of the back room and showed of the paintings in the main room instead. //Guess I'm not the only one to find the portrait a delicate subject.//  
  
Before they knew it, it was over ten o'clock and they were being ushered out of the gallery. The gallery owner wanted to go home and all the other customers had already left.  
  
They ended up on the sidewalk outside the gallery. Spike was busy lighting a cigarette while Xander shivering a little in the cool August night. //I should have brought a jacket.// Before he could turn to say 'good night', Spike had draped his own coat over Xander's shoulders.  
  
"Not like the cold bothers me." The older man explained and shrugged.  
  
Which was a big fat lie as far as Xander was concerned. Spike hadn't once stopped complaining about always being cold when they had been roommates. However, Xander thankfully excepted the warm, dark grey, woollen coat, //guess the duster would have clashed with the outfit,// and tried to think of something to say.  
  
"I'm parked this way." //Xander the great conversationalist.//  
  
"Ok." Was the only reply he got and they started walking toward his car.  
  
//Now would be a good time to ask about his whereabouts for the past years.// "So, what have you been up to since Sunnydale?"  
  
"This and that. I did some travelling, revisited some of my old haunts. You know." Spike started out and then seemed to fall in deep thoughts.  
  
The streets they wandered through were pretty deserted at this time of night. The crowds tended to gather around the bars and clubs after nightfall, and this part of the city only housed stores, and galleries.  
  
Up ahead a man crossed the street and when he saw Xander he nodded respectfully in greeting and then hurried on his way.  
  
Xander nodded back in acknowledgement and waited for the outburst that was sure to come. He didn't have to wait long. A few seconds later and Spike couldn't contain his astonishment any longer.  
  
"You know that's a vampire right? "  
  
"Yeah." Xander replied and waited for the onslaught. He knew he shouldn't bait the vampire, but it was fun.  
  
"Yeah? Is that all you have to say." Spike practically yelled. "What the hell are you doing associating with vampires?"  
  
"Associating? You make it sound as if I hang out with them."  
  
"Well, do you?"  
  
"No. I have this agreement with the master. I don't kill them and they try not to kill me. Pretty simple actually."  
  
Spike stopped and threw away his cigarette butt. "You can't trust vampires. Even if this master would keep his word what's to say that all other vampires in the city would?" He exclaimed.  
  
"Now listen, we've had this agreement ever since I came here, and not once have one of the masters vampires tried something. And before you start, yes, there have been others, but if I didn't get them, and I'm sure that you will agree that I can take care of myself, the master did, and made good examples of them. I haven't been bothered for over a year now, so yeah, I trust the master." His outburst made the vampire beside him close his mouth and resume walking at a fast pace. He could hear a quiet mumbling about 'stupid humans' and 'trusting fool'. //At least he had backed down.// It wasn't like Xander didn't know what he was doing.  
  
When Xander had first arrived to San Francisco the habit of going out on patrol every night had been strong and he had continued to make a quick sweep, just around his neighbourhood, every evening. After a few weeks he had been invited to a meeting with the master. Invited meaning he got the choice of coming with the fifteen or so fledglings that had cornered him willingly, or not. He had wisely chose willingly and spent a surreal evening talking to the master of the city. The master didn't want trouble with the slayer and Xander didn't want trouble period. So they came to an agreement. Xander would stop hunting the master's minions and the master would forbid anyone going after the human and try to keep the bloodshed to a minimum. It was all fine with Xander as long as he could stake any vampire that came after him, or that he caught feeding.  
  
Xander's walk down memory lane came to a stop when the mumbling from the vampire beside him rose loud enough to pass for talking.  
  
"I still don't like it," the vampire grumbled.  
  
"Tough, deal." Was the younger man's only reply as they arrived at his car.  
  
"So." Spike said while rocking slightly on his feet.  
  
"So." Xander answered.  
  
"I guess..." the vampire began but then stopped as if he didn't know what to say.  
  
"You want to come over for some tea?" Xander heard himself say. //That has to be the lamest pick-up line to date. And I'm not even trying to pick him up. Not that I couldn't, he can't weigh more than 140, 150 pounds tops.// While Xander's thoughts tried to get back on track the vampire had already made up his mind.  
  
"Sure, why not." Spike said and grinned at the confused young man. 


	6. Part 6

Part 6  
  
They got out of the car in silence and trudged up the stairs. After unlocking the door and inviting the vampire in, Xander went into the kitchen to... //to what? Make some tea? I don't drink tea. I don't even think I have any tea.// He stuck his head out into the living room where Spike was busy going through his CD collection.  
  
"Um, you didn't really want tea, did you?" //Please say no.//  
  
"Don't tell me, you don't have any." Spike smirked.  
  
"Um. So a beer is fine?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
Xander ducked back into the kitchen and opened the fridge to grab a couple of beers. All the while thoughts were running through his head at a mile a minute. //Why did I ask him to come back with me? I need time to think. Why did he invite me to the vernissage? Was it so that I would see the portrait, but why didn't he show it to me if that was what he wanted? Why did he paint it in the first place? Why did he name it 'Love'?// There were far too many questions and not nearly enough answers. The only way he would get some answers was simply to ask.  
  
When he stepped back into the living room, Spike had given up on his quest to find a CD he liked and had turned on the television. He had found a soccer-match and was now loudly cheering on one of the teams. The familiarity of the situation made Xander flash back to an evening years ago. The evening that Xander believed to be the reason that Spike left Sunnydale for the last time. They had all thought that he would be back, but the months had passed and reluctantly they had begun to realise that perhaps he was gone for good this time.  
  
That evening so long ago had started out as any other evening. They had been drinking beers and watching a game of soccer on TV, or football as Spike persisted to call it. Spike had been rooting for the team in red shirts, and just to annoy him Xander had picked the other team. The other team, that much to Spike's disdain had had the lead. A typical evening in the Harris household, until their usual banter had turned unexpectedly heated and ended in a searing kiss. Xander couldn't really remember what they had been fighting over. It could have been over whose team was best, over the remote, or over what channel to watch. That wasn't what was important. What was important was that the evening had gone from ordinary to unreal in a matter of second. Xander didn't know if it was the large amount of beer or their shared loneliness, but somehow they had ended up in bed, together.  
  
The next morning Xander didn't know how to act. Should he just ignore it, chalk it up to one more drunken adventure, or what? Spike was no help, he barely said two words the whole day and in the evening they retired to separate beds. That night Xander had laid awake for hours, tossing and turning, trying to get his mind wrapped around what had happened. He didn't know if Spike's silence was because he felt awkward and regretted the previously evening, or if he felt awkward because he *didn't* regret the previous evening.  
  
"Hey, is one of those mine, or are you just gonna stand there 'til they get warm?"  
  
Xander visibly shock himself free from his memories and returned to the present.  
  
"I'm thinking about it. I could always put your beer in the microwave if you're gonna be so ungrateful." //Xander, the harmless bearer of bad jokes,// Xander thought bitterly and handed over one of the bottles to the vampire. He sat down beside the older man, unconsciously choosing to sit on the couch beside him instead of in the chair to his right. This way he could hide his scarred side from view. Or maybe it was a conscious choice. This way he could sit closer to the man that had hunted every good dream he had had for years.  
  
They watched the game for a while in silence; the good camaraderie silence not the uncomfortable one, drank their beers and made occasionally comments on the game. Xander felt a 'so' coming. //Best to get it over with.//  
  
"So."  
  
"So."  
  
//And I didn't see that coming from a mile away. I'll just ask then. What can he do? Act like a drama queen and storm out?//  
  
"Why did you invite me?" //Please don't storm out.//  
  
Spike turned away from the screen and looked at Xander. "I thought it was time to forgive and forget. I have missed you."  
  
//Forgive and forget. That means that he regretted what happened. Ok, I can do this. He wants us to be friends again. I don't know if I can do this.//  
  
"You missed me. Well that's all right then. I'll just forget all these years when I didn't know where you were or what you were doing. For all I knew you could have been dust and I would never have known." The last bit had been nearly shouted, and Xander took a moment to calm himself down. "Didn't you ever think that we might be worried about you. Didn't you ever think that we might be looking for you." Xander couldn't sit still any longer and got up to pace the small room.  
  
"I didn't think." Spike started apologetically.  
  
"No! You didn't think." Xander exclaimed. "You didn't think about how I would feel being the one to run you off and not be able to tell the others why."  
  
"You didn't run me off. Xander, please sit down." Xander reluctantly took his seat again.  
  
"If I didn't run you off, then why did you leave?" He asked sullenly and looked down at his hands that were keeping themselves busy, pealing the label of the beer bottle.  
  
"There were so many reasons." Spike started out hesitantly. "I was still having trouble adjusting to the soul and all that it brought with it." He paused to think and take a swig of beer. "It was a very confusing time. Us sleeping together only made me even more confused. Then, the morning after, when you didn't seem to want to acknowledge what had happened. I guess I felt hurt. I thought it meant something, and you acted like you just wanted to forget about it. So I left. I thought I did the right thing. I felt like I had taken advantage of you. Like I had betrayed your friendship. I didn't want your pity." Spike ended subdued.  
  
"You talk about how you felt and what you wanted. What about what I felt, what I wanted. Do you think you were the only one confused. Do you think that you were the only one that it meant something to." Xander grounded out through clenched teeth. "The only reason why I didn't say anything that morning was that *you* didn't say anything. I thought that you regretted what had happened." Xander was still angry. //How could he just think of himself and leave.// .me, a small voice in the back of his head added.  
  
"Never regretted what happened." Spike hurried to assure the young man. "I regret leaving, but never that night. I am sorry that I didn't talk to you before I left. I was hurting and the guilt didn't let me see things clearly."  
  
"But you're here now." Xander said and left the safety of his hands to look the other man in the eyes. It was high time to leave the hurting subject of the past, and return to the present situation. If Spike was truly sorry, and it sounded like he was, then maybe it was time to forgive and forget. Xander just didn't know what would come next. He had been living with the hurt and guilt for so long that he didn't know what to do if he had to let it go. Maybe he could start living again, really living instead of merely surviving. If it would only be that easy.  
  
"Yes. I'm here now. And I have no intention of leaving again." Spike vowed and looked back into the younger man's eyes, his own eyes filled with sincerity and hopefulness.  
  
"I just have to know, and I want a straight answer." At Spike's nod Xander continued. "Why didn't you stay in touch after leaving? I mean, a postcard a year would have been enough, just so that I knew that you were still alive."  
  
"You didn't know this, but I kept up with what happened in Sunnydale after I left. I wanted to keep you safe so I had some favours called in to keep an eye on you." Spike reached over to Xander and pushed the hair, which had fallen forward to conceal his scarred side, behind his ear. "Apparently they didn't tell me everything. If I had known you had been hurt, I would have been there." Xander shied away from the hand that had come to rest against his left cheek. "What happened?" Spike asked softly.  
  
"I don't want to talk about it. Not now anyway." Xander answered with a shaky voice. Just mentioning it brought back a well full of memories, and he had to blink hard not to let the tears gathering in his eyes fall. "I can't." Xander whispered brokenly and fled into the kitchen.  
  
He leaned against the counter and buried his face in his hands. //I will not cry. I will not cry.// Normally the memories of that traumatic week wouldn't have this kind of power over him, but the evening had been full of emotions and Xander was too tired to ward himself against the feelings. He remained leaning against the counter for a few more minutes, breathing deeply and trying to shake the fear and unease. When he felt that he was once again in control and able to face the vampire, he picked up two fresh beers from the fridge and walked back out into the living room.  
  
The game had ended some time ago and Spike had changed the channel to the one that Xander had silently dubbed 'all reruns, all night'. It was probably the channel that he watched the most. There had been more nights than he cared to acknowledge that he had had trouble sleeping. He put the bottles on the table and sat down.  
  
"I'm sorry I upset you. I won't mention it again." Spike said by way of apologising.  
  
"It's ok." Xander answered, but they both knew that it wasn't.  
  
"The reason that I didn't keep in touch," Spike continued, resuming the earlier conversation, "was that the reports I got about you all said that you were doing fine. They told me that you were battling evil, hanging with the gang." Spike trailed off before seemingly coming to some sort of conclusion. "I thought that you were happy. That me leaving was a good thing. That you didn't miss me," Spike ended on a subdued note.  
  
"Of course I missed you, but I couldn't show it to the girls now, could I, 'cause they didn't know that we were that close. I did miss you, never doubt that." Xander firmly stated and took the vampire's hands in his. He looked into Spike's eyes and saw all he could ever hope for: acceptance, respect, friendship and. love. He knew that he was probably imagining the love part, but maybe... Spike had said that he wanted to forgive and forget, and Xander would honour the older man's wishes. If Spike only wanted to be friends he could do that. As long as he was a part of Spike's life he would be happy. //And I have to stop lying to myself before it kills me.//  
  
"You could have called." Xander admonished.  
  
"I know." Spike said ruefully.  
  
"You didn't have to leave."  
  
"I know, I'm sorry."  
  
"So. friends?" //Please say you want to be more than friends.//  
  
"Friends."  
  
And Xander was genuinely happy about that. He really was. Just a week ago, friends had been more than he could ever have hoped for. He smiled happily at Spike and gave his hands a reassuring squeeze, trying to convey his feelings. He got a beautiful broad smile in return and his world tilted, almost turning upright. Maybe there was hope yet.  
  
Discussion ended, at least for now, they both turned towards the television and settled down to an episode of Dallas, the one where Bobby came back from the dead in the shower. It didn't take long before Xander was yawning and having a hard time keeping his eyes opened. The last week's suspense and the evening's emotional roller coaster had finally catched up to him and left him drained both physical and psychological. It didn't take long before he was snoring softly, curled up to the man beside him.  
  
Spike turned of the television and carefully draped a blanket, that had been lying over the back of the couch, over the sleeping human. /What am I to do with you Harris?/ He thought. /This friend thing will kill me, but I'll do it for you. Having you in my life again is good enough. It has to be./ He bent down and gingerly touched the scars marring Xander's beautiful face, silently wowing to hunt down whoever had dared to mark his boy, if they wasn't dead already. But knowing the slayer there probably wasn't anything left to hunt. Spike quickly scrabbled down a short message on a legal pad that he had found on the kitchen table, propped it up on the coffee table, and with one last wistful look at the peacefully sleeping man, he left. 


End file.
